Vanished into Plein Air

by Paula Darnell

  We chatted for a few minutes until Laddie and I went inside to be greeted by Mona Lisa, who launched herself onto my shoulder, startling me. That was a new trick for her. I coaxed her into my arms for a cuddle, which she tolerated for a few seconds before leaping down and stalking off. She made herself scarce, while I unloaded the groceries I'd picked up on the way home and then tried to relax by watching a movie as Laddie curled up at my feet.

  Mona Lisa reappeared the minute I went to bed, settling herself on her favorite pillow, next to me. I drifted off to sleep to the sound of her rhythmic purring and Laddie's soft breathing as he rested his chin on my feet.

  The next morning proved uneventful, and I spent several hours painting in the studio after taking the time to snap some pictures of the Siamese cats' portrait to send to their proud pet parents. Luckily, I'd remembered to pick up batteries for the camera when I'd stopped at the store after visiting Lieutenant Belmont. Before pausing to have lunch, I emailed my invoice along with the pictures of the painting, hoping for a quick payment to bolster my checking account.

  Since the regular Friday night studio tour was scheduled from six to nine, I spent some time tidying the studio, moving some paintings to different positions on the wall, and placing the two easels with my unfinished paintings in the center of the room to show them off to greater advantage. I had only three silk scarves available to display, and since I already had an order for half a dozen, I planned to dedicate some time tomorrow to dyeing several more. Even though each scarf sold for far less than a painting, scarf sales were profitable, and it took me much less time to dye a scarf than it did to create an original oil painting.

  Laddie watched me as I bustled about the studio. He knew he'd be barred in the evening, but he'd become accustomed to the weekly gig and didn't mind watching the action from behind the baby gate that I always placed in the doorway between my studio and living room. Besides, Belle often came over on Friday nights to keep us company, although she didn't bring Mr. Big with her on these occasions because the little dog had a tendency to bark when he was excited. Laddie, on the other hand, always looked at the studio visitors with his usual friendly interest, and many of them stopped to pet him as he stuck his head over the baby gate.

  I'd finished my task and was about to boot up my laptop to update my website when Brooks called with the news that Ulysses had been wide awake since early morning and was doing well. He'd made another request to see me so that he could thank me in person for delivering the ransom. It seemed so long ago since I'd gone to the hospital in response to his first request, only to learn that he'd fallen into a coma, but I realized it had been only a few days.

  Ulysses remained something of an enigma, as far as I was concerned. Our acquaintance started in Brooks's new gallery during Ulysses's one-man show. After that, I'd observed him in action at the Roadrunner, the plein air paint-out, the auction, and finally in the magnificent resort suite Brooks had comped him while he'd stayed in Lonesome Valley. He'd been pleasant at the show and enjoyed seeing Ralph, although Ralph hadn't been quite as eager to renew their friendship. The same could be said of Pamela, who'd stepped back to avoid Ulysses's embrace when he'd stopped by the Roadrunner with Olivia. His remark to his wife had angered her, but it was difficult to tell how deeply because Susan had diplomatically spirited Olivia away at the time. I hadn't paid much attention to Ulysses at the paint-out because I'd needed to concentrate on my own artwork to finish on time, but he'd seemed genuinely distressed when he couldn't locate Olivia. He'd been frantic during the kidnapping affair, too. Both Pamela's and Lieutenant Belmont's accounts of Ulysses's behavior decades earlier suggested other, less-pleasant facets of his personality, although perhaps he had mellowed with time and left the binge drinking, abusive behavior, and cheating behind.

  I fed Laddie and Mona Lisa an early dinner and then changed my clothes from the old jeans and t-shirt I'd been wearing to a fuchsia maxi dress. I draped one of my tie-dyed fuchsia and green scarves around my neck and put on some silver earrings with long, dangling chains. The last thing I did to get ready for the tour was yank another pesky gray hair from my hairline. I sighed, knowing that, at some point, there would be too many to pluck, and I'd have to decide whether to dye my hair back to its original dark brown shade or let it be a salt-and-pepper color.

  It was nearly six o'clock, so I pulled my tour sign out to the curb and set it in place. I also turned on my new floodlights that Dennis had installed for me. If I didn't do it before darkness fell, I was likely to forget. Promptly at six, I put up the baby gate, but Laddie didn't protest since I'd remain in the living room with him until I spotted visitors arriving. I stationed myself on the sofa, where I could look out the front window and spot anybody who parked in front of my house or my neighbor's house.

  Half an hour passed without anyone showing up, and it was beginning to look like it would be a very slow evening. I'd never had a tour end without any visitors, but that was always a possibility. I was about to call Belle to find out when she planned to join me, but as I reached for my phone, I saw a man approaching my sign on the curb. He paused to read the sign before walking toward my studio's door, so I stepped over the baby gate carefully, holding my long dress up so that I wouldn't trip. When my guest opened the door, I was ready to greet him, and so was Laddie, who crowded the baby gate and stuck his head over it so that he wouldn't miss anything.

  “Hello,” I beamed and launched into my standard elevator pitch, designed to be informative about my artwork without employing any high-pressure tactics, which I couldn't force myself to use, anyway. I always ended by inviting my visitors to look around and let me know if they had any questions.

  “Umm. Very nice.” He paused and looked uncertainly around. He looked as though he was about my age. He ran his hand through his short sandy hair and gave me a weak grin. “I saw your sign when I came out to trim my shrubs. I bought the house next door.”

  “Oh, you're our new neighbor.” I introduced myself and Laddie.

  He went to Laddie and petted him. “Nice dog.”

  “Laddie's a great companion. Do you have any pets?”

  He stood by Laddie as though next to a lifeline. He hadn't even told me his name yet, so I didn't know what to call him.

  “No. I'd like to, but I'm away on the job six months of the year, so it wouldn't be fair to have a pet I couldn't take care of half the time. I'm Brian, by the way, Brian Hudson.”

  “It's nice to meet you, Brian. Are you in sales, by any chance? My cousin's a sales rep, and he's away from home quite a bit, too.”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. I work on an offshore oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “It can be, but most of the time, the job's fairly routine. Now that I'm a supervisor, I spend a lot of time on paperwork.”

  The door to the studio swung open, and Brian and I both turned to see who had come in.

  “Belle, meet our new neighbor, Brian Hudson. Brian, Belle and her husband Dennis are my next-door neighbors on the other side.”

  Belle perked up immediately and joined Brian. Before we had a chance to continue our three-way conversation, several people entered the studio. Evidently, the family was vacationing in an RV, and Lonesome Valley was their first stop. They'd seen the ads for the Friday night studio tour, and they were stopping at each studio. For the next half hour, they kept me busy with their questions about my artwork. One of the women bought a couple of prints, and another one purchased a scarf.

  When they left, I looked over at Laddie. Belle and Brian were attentively petting my affable retriever as they talked, and Laddie was enjoying every second of attention..

  Belle gave me a thumbs-up. “Good sales!”

  “Yes, not bad. Even if nobody else comes in this evening, it will have been worth it.”

  “Is your tour a weekly event?” Brian asked.

  “Ten months out of the year. We take January and February off. There are twenty stops on the tou
r, but most people don't go to every one of them. I hope it won't disturb you. I know sometimes the visitors park in front of your house.”

  “No problem. Remember, I won't be home half the time, anyway, and when I am home, I'll probably be reading a book or watching TV. I can't imagine that it would bother me. Don't give it a second thought.”

  “I asked Brian to come over for a barbecue tomorrow night. You're coming, too, aren't you?” Belle grinned slyly.

  This was the first time I'd heard of a Saturday night barbecue. She'd come up with it on the spur of the moment.

  “Sure,” I agreed, “and you have to let me contribute more than just dessert. I'll bring some potato salad and baked beans. Plus a pie.”

  “That's fine.”

  “I'm afraid I don't cook, but I'll be happy to bring some wine,” Brian ventured.

  “Good. Then it's all set,” Belle said.

  Brian had been looking around the studio while we talked. “I need something above my sofa in the living room,” he said. “Do you have any prints about four feet wide?”

  “Nothing that big on hand, but my art printer can make any size you need, so if you see a painting or a print you like, I can have one made for you in the right size, and it can be printed on art paper—I can show you samples—or on a canvas. With a gallery-wrap, you wouldn't need a frame.”

  “Lots of great choices, but I like that one best,” he said, pointing to a colorful landscape that featured orange and green hues, “but I don't know if it would be the right color for my living room.”

  “Only one way to tell. I'll bring it over, and you can decide what you think, but it should be in the daytime. Natural light, you know.”

  “OK. Frankly, I'm not sure I'll know the difference, but you're an artist. You know all about colors, so I'll let you tell me whether it looks all right above my couch.”

  “I'd be happy to, but we want it to look better than all right. I'll give you my honest opinion. So will Belle.”

  I'd just volunteered Belle, but I knew she wouldn't mind. In fact, she'd be eager to satisfy her curiosity about our new neighbor and his house.

  “Good. Is tomorrow OK? Maybe early afternoon?” he suggested, and Belle and I agreed.

  After Brian left, Belle and I stepped over the gate, into the living room, and I took up sentinel duty on the sofa. Content that no barrier separated us now, Laddie curled up at my feet.

  Belle wiggled her eyebrows and gazed at me with a knowing look. “Don't you think he's kind of cute, Amanda?”

  Chapter 22

  “Who?”

  “Very funny—Brian—that's who. You'll have the perfect opportunity to get to know him better tomorrow—two opportunities, actually. And I don't think I need to be with you when you take your painting over to his house.”

  “Please go with me, Belle. We'll need a second opinion, and you're great at interior decorating.”

  “Oh, all right. Why do I get the feeling you don't want to be alone with the man?”

  “We don't really know him, and I don't want to jump into a romance with my next-door neighbor. It could prove to be very awkward.”

  “Or very pleasant.”

  “Let's just say I'm not in a big rush to have a man in my life. The last one left me for a woman my son's age.”

  “OK, I understand. You're not ready yet. It's probably better to take it slow and see how it goes. But just remember: Brian isn't Ned.”

  “I'll keep that in mind,” I said with a smile. “Oh, here come a few people. I'd better go back into the studio.”

  “I'll stay here with Laddie. Good luck!” Belle called as I lifted up the skirt of my maxi-dress and climbed over the baby gate.

  Minutes later, I rejoined Belle and Laddie.

  “Tire kickers,” I said. “I bet they're the last people we'll see this evening.”

  My prediction proved true. Nobody else visited my studio, so, promptly at nine, we wheeled the trolley out to the curb, hoisted my studio tour sign aboard, and pushed the cart back into the studio.

  After I bade Belle goodnight, I thought about everything I had to do tomorrow, and I realized I might have overbooked. I put some dry beans in a pan to soak overnight and hauled out my crock pot from the cabinet under my kitchen counter. I'd debated whether or not to leave it behind in Kansas City when I'd moved to Lonesome Valley, but I was glad I'd brought it with me now. It would come in handy to cook the beans slowly all day without my having to constantly monitor them as I would have had to do if I'd used the oven instead.

  Before I went to bed, I set my alarm. I had too much to do to allow myself the luxury of sleeping in, but when the alarm clock clanged at five-thirty, I reluctantly rolled out of bed.

  After a walk to the park with Laddie, I drained the softened beans and dumped them into my crock pot along with water, molasses, brown sugar, a chopped onion, bacon, ketchup, mustard, and some salt and pepper. I was about ready to turn on my crock pot when I thought better of it. Mona Lisa had a bad habit of leaping onto the kitchen counter when I least expected it. Since I wouldn't be home to keep an eye on her all day, I moved the crock pot to the patio and plugged it in there. Even though chances were that she'd ignore it, I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.

  I scrubbed some potatoes and quickly assembled a peach pie, glad I'd had the foresight a few weeks ago to make pastry and freeze a dozen pie crusts. I squeezed the potatoes and peach pie into the oven and set my timer for an hour.

  While the pie and potatoes baked, I showered and dressed for my trip to the hospital to see Ulysses. I planned on making my visit with him short. With luck, I'd be back home in an hour, so I'd have time to dye some scarves before my one-o'clock appointment with my new neighbor.

  I really couldn't delay the dyeing until tomorrow if I wanted to deliver the half-dozen scarves to the hospital gift shop on Monday morning, as I'd promised Xena.

  After I dyed them and they were dry, I needed to steam each scarf separately to set the dye, and that took some time.

  As soon as the timer went off, I removed the baked potatoes and pie from the oven and set them in my tiny pantry, away from my curious pets, to cool. Then I assured Laddie I would be back soon and departed. Although Mona Lisa wasn't around when I left, I was glad I'd secured the food for the barbecue out of her reach.

  This time, I didn't even bother trying to find a spot in the hospital's small lot. I parked a couple of blocks away and walked. I was in for a surprise when a couple of police cars whizzed by me and turned into the hospital's emergency entrance.

  Perhaps they were investigating an auto accident, I speculated, but I hadn't seen an ambulance, and the only sirens I'd heard had been those of the police cruisers.

  I saw no activity in the lobby when I entered, and I assumed that whatever had brought the police to the hospital was happening in the emergency room.

  Figuring that Ulysses wouldn't stay in the ICU since Brooks had told me he was not only awake but was also feeling well, I stopped to ask the receptionist his room number and was directed to the fourth floor. By the number, I knew Ulysses's room was just a few doors down from Lieutenant Belmont's. Nevertheless, I planned to avoid the lieutenant on this visit, which I resolved to keep short. I really didn't want to get into another discussion about his diet.

  As soon as I got off the elevator, I knew something was wrong. Several patrol officers were huddled around the nursing station, opposite the elevator. I headed down the same hallway I'd used the previous day, but I didn't get far before one of them came after me.

  “Ma'am, unless you're a hospital staffer, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “But why? What's going on?”

  “Please just do as I ask.”

  I glanced toward the end of the hallway and spotted Mike Dyson. I waved at him, hoping he'd notice me. Luckily, I'd caught his eye, and he came over.

  “Mike, what's going on?”

  “I tried to tell her she needs to leave,” the officer who'd warned m
e told Mike.

  “It's OK, Jake. I know this lady.”

  With a shrug, Jake returned to the nursing station.

  “What's going on, Mike?” I repeated. “Why are you here?”

  “Ulysses Durand's dead. He's been strangled.”

  Chapter 23

  I put my hand over my mouth and stood there, frozen, staring at Mike. I couldn't believe it. To have recovered from a life-threatening accident and pulled out of a coma, only to have his life snuffed out by a killer—it was unbelievable.

  “I'm sorry, Amanda.”

  “I'm shocked. How could this happen? He should have been safe in the hospital.” Even as I said it, though, I could imagine that it wouldn't have been too difficult to avoid detection in the busy hospital, especially since the employees and patients would have no reason to suspect a bad actor. Employees and visitors were there to help patients, not harm them.

  “Say, were you coming to visit Ulysses? Is that why you're here?”

  I nodded.

  “In that case, you'd better wait a minute. The chief or Sergeant Martinez might want to talk to you.”

  “All right, but I don't know what I could tell them. I just arrived a few minutes ago.”

  Mike disappeared into Ulysses's room and returned with Sergeant Martinez. I explained the reason for my visit, and he told me that I could go home, but that he might need to speak with me again later. He leaned over and spoke quietly so that I was the only one who could hear him, and he explained that he thought Ulysses's murder might be related to his wife's kidnapping. I could understand his point; two crimes targeting the same couple within a week didn't exactly seem coincidental.

  “Of course. I don't know what I could add, but let me know if you need me.” I looked past Sergeant Martinez to see Lieutenant Belmont emerge from his room, dressed in a blue hospital gown and pulling a metal IV stand along beside him.

  “I thought I heard you, Dave,” he said. “What's all the commotion?”

  “Durand's dead,” Sergeant Martinez said bluntly.